


Heaven

by anastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Crying Dean, Dean Cries During Sex, Fluff, M/M, Making Love, POV Second Person, Soul Bond, praising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:48:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anastiel/pseuds/anastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You want to tell him you love him but you don't know how. Somehow, he manages to find a way to get under your skin and pry your secrets out for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven

Sometimes, you watch him. No, not in a creepy way, despite what Sam says, but what does he know? You just can’t help yourself, your eyes are drawn to his form whenever he enters a room. He brings a radiance with him wherever he goes, it’s not because of his dwindling grace or the fact that he used to be one of the most powerful beings in the universe. It has to do with the glow and warmth of his soul, his kindness and unconditional love that projects a bright aura about him.

One afternoon, he walks into the room and you feel like the breath has been sucked out of your lungs. The mid-afternoon sun reflects down through the window, casting a halo around his head. He looks like an angel right then, like a saint; a savior. Then he notices your gaze, turns his extraordinarily blue eyes on you. Those eyes that seem to stare into the depths of your soul, pulling out all the secrets you want to hide from the world.

He asks, “Dean, are you alright?”

You flash him a overly bright smile and wave him off, “Yeah, Cas. I’m fine, I’m fine.”

But you’re not fine, you’re really not. You want to get up from your chair, stride across the room over to him and touch him, kiss him; show him how much you love him and show him how much he could feel. But you can’t. You don’t have the guts.

Sometimes he’ll be across the room from you, holding a dusty, old book delicately in his hands. His fingers brush down the pages, smoothing out the wrinkles, treating this insignificant thing like a prized jewel. Idly, you wonder if his hands would touch you in a similar way. If his beautiful hands would smooth across your bared body in such a reverent way. If he would make love to you like you are precious, like you are his world, brushing his lips against every inch of your flesh, kissing praises into your skin. If he loved you like that, you know he would.

Once you bumped into him in the kitchen whilst doing the dishes together, your hand brushed against his and for a split-second you thought your heart was going to leap out of your chest. You remember abruptly pulling your hand away, a blush rising up your neck and an apology leaving your lips. He stared at you for a few moments in confusion, not retreating from your personal space, but you looked away. If you’d looked at him then, you might have done something dumb, like kiss him.

It’s taxing, holding yourself back when all you want is to touch him, to love him. There’s a feeling in your belly that grows whenever he’s close to you, rising and fluttering through your veins, sinking into the hollowness of your bones and the depths of your soul. You need him, you love him. Fuck, you love him. You shouldn’t love him, he is a saint and you are a sinner; bound for the depths of hell where he cannot reach you. He saved you once from the fire, but you are too far gone now for him to save you again. Your touch would scorch him, poison and darkness would seep into him, making him dark and evil. You cannot do that to him, _not to him._

You try to avoid him for a few days and this lessens the longing for him in your heart, but only slightly. But it also hurts you and hurts him. He doesn’t understand why you are distancing yourself. He confronts you in the evening in the shadows of the darkened hallway on the way to your room. Your first instinct is to deny and lie, it’s always worked before; but this time it will not. You know that he will see right through your facade.

“Dean,” He pleads, “What did I do wrong?”

You shake your head, looking for a way out and finding none. “Nothing,” you answer.

He regards you with a look full of fire and you stare back, there’s not use turning away now. He stares into your eyes, calculating your thoughts and feelings; his gaze softens.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice soft, caring and there’s worry glazing over his eyes.

“I-I,” you stutter, glancing away from his prying eyes, down at your sock-covered feet.

“Dean,” He whispers. The sound of his voice saying your name so tenderly and with so much love breaks down every wall you’ve ever built and a flood of emotion rushes out.

“I love you,” you blurt out, raising your eyes to his. “I am so fucking in love with you.”

Before you can even anticipate a response, his lips are on yours, soft and gentle. He’s kissing you more tenderly than you’ve ever been kissed in your life and your knees feel weak. You don’t deserve this, you don’t deserve him.

“Cas,” you say, pulling away, voice cracking and wrecked, hands shaking as you attempt to steady yourself against the wall.

“You idiot,” he mutters, taking your hand within his own and rubbing circles into your palm, “I love you.”

You open your mouth to protest, to tell him that he cannot, that he should run away before anything happens to save himself the pain. But he pushes you against the wall and kisses you, “I love you,” he says and you gasp into his mouth, because this too much to hope for, this cannot be real.

“I love you,” he says again, kissing you deeper, tangling his fingers in your hair, other hand still intertwined with yours.

You pull away and stare at him with wide eyes, he stares back and you know he can tell that you’re scared. He tugs gently on your hand with a small smile and you let yourself be led into your own room. Your hands shake as you watch him close the door, you don’t know what to do. In situations like this usually you are in control, suave, charming and flirtatious; but not this time. _This_ has so little to do with sex and so much more to do with _love_ that you are incredibly lost. He turns to you and the calmness reflecting in his eyes stills you. He takes your hand again, clasping yours and his together with a small smile. His other hand he places on your chest, his handprint covering the spot where your heart pumps wildly within your chest.

He kisses you, stealing your breath and beginning to explore. He tastes like stardust and lightening, and it shocks you down to your very core. With a slight push against your chest, he lays you down on the soft comforter of the bed, and his hands trail underneath your thin t-shirt, fingers barely brushing against your skin. He undresses you slowly, murmuring praises and “I love you’s” against your skin as he goes.

You were right, he does touch you as if you are his whole world.

When your naked body is bared to him, self-consciousness creeps in. You don’t want him to see the scars that litter your body, especially the angry, jagged one that stands out on your right forearm. The remnants of the Mark and evil things it caused you to do. He pauses his kisses that grace your collarbone and removes his clothing so you are both completely exposed. His lips find yours again, then begin to trails across your body. He kisses every freckle, every scar and blemish that is dotted across your skin. Your heart constricts and you feel tears prick at your eyes. He eyes the mark, lips hovering over the raised scar and murmurs, “I love you,” before pressing a dozen kisses against it.

You chant his name like a prayer as his hands move up and down your body, softly and so gently you should only be able to barely feel it, but you feel alive; so alive. An unbridled heat flows throughout your body, it’s beautiful and all-consuming in a way that you have never felt before. His name is constantly leaving your lips, in gasps and moans and whimpers. He’s stripped you bare, in both body and soul and broken you down with his hands. He pauses before he thrusts into you, blue eyes meeting green, his hands on your hips.

“Dean,” he says, voice choked with emotion, “You are so beautiful.”

And that’s it, that’s the final straw. A choked sob leaves your lips, tears streaming down your cheeks as your two bodies become one. He kisses the tears away, but they keep falling and you don’t know how to stop them, you don’t know if you want to. He comes crying out your name and he holds you through your orgasm, you body shuddering from the intense ecstasy and from the sobs that still wrack your body. When you stop shaking, you kiss him, deep and powerful, putting as much love into it as you can. You want him to know the depths to which your love for him goes, he needs to know. He kisses you back, smiling into the kiss; his happiness evident. You wrap your arms around each other, warm skin, pressed against warm skin, calm and peaceful. The radiance of his soul blends with the fluttering happiness of your own soul and enraptures you both.

And this is it, this is Heaven.


End file.
